


You're Timeless to Me

by Carver Edlund (goshcas)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (all of these dork tags are preexisting im so happy rn), Actor Castiel, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Theatre, Asexual Castiel, Asexual Character, Bullying, Castiel and Dean Winchester are Dorks, Castiel is a Beautiful Cinnamon Roll Too Good For This World Too Pure, Dorks in Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hairspray, Happy Ending, High School Stereotypes, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Pining, Protective Dean, Teenage Dorks, Theatre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-21 21:52:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3705739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goshcas/pseuds/Carver%20Edlund
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean’s halfway through reading the script when he realizes that Cas is gonna have to kiss someone.</p>
<p>Which, really, he should have seen coming. It’s Hairspray, after all, and shy, quiet Castiel is playing Link Larkin.</p>
<p>Charming, hot, womanizer Link Larkin.</p>
<p>Dean’s screwed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Timeless to Me

**Author's Note:**

> (Art [here](http://sweetnessnarose.livejournal.com/4873.html))  
> Wow okay so this is my story for the [Asexual Supernatural Mini Bang](http://acespnminibang.tumblr.com) and this was just a cute thing I had in mind because my school did Hairspray this year. Of course, at first I was sure this was going to be super short, that I’d barely get it over the minimum 5000 words for the challenge. I more than doubled that estimate, and I’m generally pleased with the outcome of this.  
> Also, I did theatre a lot a couple of years ago, but never the backstage stuff. I don’t know a lot about that, but I did some fast googling about what different people do, plus I have some general knowledge, if not firsthand experience.  
> Finally, general disclaimer that sexuality is different for everyone and blah blah blah so this is just one way a person might identify as asexual and this isn’t the end all be all way to do it.  
> Okay! All my thanks are in the end notes because I wanted to keep this short! So enjoy and stuff hopefully!

They’re at the diner eating pie, sitting across from each other, each with a script in their hands. It’s mostly silent, but the comfortable kind of silence that comes from knowing each other since they were kids.

He’s halfway through reading the script when Dean realizes that Cas is gonna have to kiss someone and chokes on his pie.

Cas barely raises an eyebrow. “Are you okay?” he asks. His eyes flick upward toward Dean.

Dean forces himself to swallow down the pie and forces a smile. “Yeah,” he says, then turns back to the script.

The words on the page couldn’t be clearer: “They kiss.” Courier New size twelve, parentheses, italicized, center aligned, the whole shebang.

Dean glances up at Cas, whose eyebrows are drawn together in concentration, already working on memorizing lines even on his first read through. Dean’s calf is brushing Cas’s under the table since he kicked his legs out ten minutes ago and—

“It’s just stage kisses, right?” Dean blurts out.

Not even putting his script down, Cas just gives him a weird look. “No?”

“Do you even—” Dean wants to bang his head against the table for being an asshole. “Are you even into that?”

Okay, Dean doesn’t completely understand the whole _asexuality_ thing Cas has got going on, only that he doesn’t want to be with people like _that_. Except he’s not sure Cas wants to be with people at all, since he’s never so much as expressed interest in someone since they became friends.

“It’s theatre, Dean. I’m not,” here he using little finger quotes that are sort of adorable, “‘into’ suffocating myself and polluting the environment with hairspray either, but my character is, and does, and so must I.”

Dean nods like he gets it even though all he’s really getting is a _stupidly_ timed reminder of why he’s _stupidly_ in love with his best friend, and why it’ll never be reciprocated. But that has absolutely nothing to do with the current situation and Dean’s an idiot, so he just shrugs and takes a bite of pie. It’s awesome, obviously, being pie and all, but Dean’s still stuck on the stupid script. Cas is looking back down at the stack of papers and Dean looks at it with disdain.

“Though I do suppose I may be interested in… That kind of thing,” Cas suddenly offers, not looking up.

Dean very nearly chokes again (this time on _air_ rather than pie) but manages to catch himself.

“What, like, kissing kinds of things?”

He kinda wishes Cas just hadn’t said anything, because now Dean is imagining Cas with pink cheeks, his even pinker lips flush against _someone’s_ and his hand gently resting on that _person’s_ cheek and how _wrong_ that is because whoever it is probably doesn’t know Cas that well and probably is nowhere near deserving Cas’s touch. _Dean_ doesn’t even deserve Cas’s touch.

Cas shrugs noncommittally. “I suppose.”

“Have you ever kissed anyone?”

“No,” Cas replies, says it like it isn’t a travesty, the worst thing in the entire world that the beautiful and kind and loving and perfect Castiel Novak is totally indifferent toward his first kiss being on a stage with someone who doesn’t actually care about.

Instead of saying all this, Dean says, “Oh,” and the topic is dropped.

***

Dean is technically credited as stage manager, but during rehearsal his main job is noting any decisions made by the director—Crowley, the douchey and fittingly over dramatic head of their school’s humble drama department. For the past few rehearsals they’ve been doing more choreographing than blocking, so Dean ends up working on stuff for the set, helping Jo Harvelle organize costumes. She’s helping with costumes in her fashion and design class. She’s basically in charge of costuming since God knows Crowley can’t do more than tell people what to do.

All in all, he’s okay with it. He gets to work with Jo who is like a little sister to him (in the best _and worst_ ways) and, if he was out there helping, he’d be subject to watching Cas practice and dance and fake flirt with two different girls on stage and—

They’ve barely blocked the first two scenes. Dean is probably going to die before he even gets to see Cas in his sixties style costume.

“Hello? Earth to Dean?” Dean blinks twice before he realizes Jo is snapping in his face.

“Sorry, what?”

“What was the last thing you heard me say?”

Dean pauses. “Something about costume budget.” But then, all she talks about when they’re staying after for the play is the costume budget.

“I said we have to make do with the little in the budget, and then I said we have to make sure everything’s organized in time to get them approved and do fittings and alterations.”

“Right,” Dean says, twirling a pen absently.

Jo rolls her eyes, pauses, looks at Dean, and then laughs.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Jo offers innocently.

Dean glares at her.

“Nothing, I was just thinking how it’s funny how you do that face.”

“What face? This is my normal face.”

“No, you’ve got a special face when you’re daydreaming about Castiel.”

Dean’s cheeks quite possibly go pink, but he elects to ignore that possibility because _no way_. “I do not! I wasn’t!”

“It’s the same face you have when he’s anywhere in the same room with you. It would be disgusting if you guys weren’t so adorable.”

“I hate you.”

“I know you do,” Jo says. “You know you could always—“

“Jo,” Dean warns. She’s told him this a thousand times. Just tell him, she says, like it’s easy. Just ask him out, like it wouldn’t ruin their friendship, like there’s even a possibility that Cas _wouldn’t_ laugh in his face.

Except, no. Cas wouldn’t laugh. Cas was too nice to just laugh. It would be a thousand times worse for him to look at him as his expression slowly grew into one of pity and he’d say stupid words that didn’t mean anything like “I’m sorry,” when obviously he had nothing to apologize for. _Dean_ should be apologizing, for feeling, you know, _all that_ for his friend. His best friend, who wasn’t even like that as far as Dean knew.

Sure, he’s googled asexuality, but there were about a thousand variants of asexual and a good nine hundred of them pointed to Cas having no interest in Dean in all his douchiness, all his bad jokes and bad influence and all around _bad_.

And not even the _good_ kind of bad. He’s poison.

“Dean, I can tell just by looking at you that whatever excuses you’re making to yourself are over-dramatic and stupid and _wrong_ , so just grow a pair and _do it_.”

“What are we doing?”

The voice comes from behind them both and Dean almost _dies_ in the most manly way possible because that gravelly voice is Castiel’s.

Dean coughs and refuses to let himself respond too quickly. _Casual_ , he thinks, _keep it cool_.

“Nothing,” he says, smooth delivery, believable, nice.

( _Pathetic_ , his mind supplies.)

Jo starts laughing so hard that she doubles over, to which Castiel just tilts his head. “And associating bravery with someone’s possession of ‘a pair’—which I assume is referencing testicles—is sexist, Joanna Beth.”

Jo turns to Dean, still laughing, and says, “You know how to pick ‘em, Dean,” before walking away.

Dean and Cas both watch her go before Cas turns to him with confusion written all over his face. “I don’t understand. Feminism is no laughing matter.”

Which makes _Dean_ laugh as Cas just looks between Dean and the spot where Jo had disappeared.

Finally, he calms down. “What did you need, buddy?”

Cas looks self conscious and confused all at once. “You’re giving me a ride home.”

“What?” He looks down at the time displayed on his phone. “Oh. Shit, didn’t even realize.”

Cas rolls his eyes fondly. “I’m getting you a watch for Christmas.”

“Ugh,” Dean says. “Only you’d give me a nerdy gift like that.”

“So I suppose it would be perfect, then.”

They’ve almost reached the door—and freedom—when a voice calls after them.

A voice Dean rather hates, to be perfectly honest.

“Where you hurrying off to, boys?” She says it slow and lazy and _ugh_.

Meg Masters. Playing Amber, one of the leads, and a romantic interest of Cas. Dean thinks her role is quite fitting, what with both she and her character being complete _bitches_.

And because Dean isn’t a creepy stalker who watches Cas while rehearsing, it is only _sheer coincidence,_ of course, that he knows that Cas and Meg have sort of hit it off since rehearsals start it. She’s predatory in her wicked smiles, all flirtatious and slow speaking and smirks and she has the rare ability to make Cas laugh which _really_ just makes Dean wish she weren’t a girl so he could punch her.

Maybe he can see what Cas means about feminism.

Plus she hangs out with _that_ group of jocks. The assholes who give the theatre kids a hard time for no reason other than an excuse for them to be douchey.

“Dean’s giving me a ride home,” Cas answered politely. He looks happy just talking to her which makes Dean clear his throat loudly.

She smiles. “Right. Remember what I said, Clarence.”

Ominous as fuck. Shady. Even worse, Cas blushes. Actually blushes.

As soon as they’re in the parking lot Dean turns to him. “What was that about?” Nonchalant. Inconspicuous. Cool.

Cas just blushes a deeper shade of pink (God, he’s beautiful) and quite nearly _squeaks_ , “Nothing.”

Dean pauses and refuses to acknowledge the fact that it’s awkward. The space between them is thick.

“Do you, like,” Dean says, stops, continues, “like her? I mean, not,”—he thinks back to those quick Google searches and wishes he understood absolutely anything about sexuality and _spectrums_ and rainbows and pride and shit—“Not like _sexually_ I guess because, you know, but romantically?”

Dean wants to smack himself and then die. Maybe not even in that order.

Cas’s eyebrows furrow and his head tilts (why is that so cute?) like he doesn’t understand. “I’m not romantically interested in Meg,” he says, like it’s obvious.

“Coulda fooled me,” Dean says.

It’s a good five minutes into the drive home before they’re talking like they normally do, and Dean wonders when it became so hard to have a conversation with his own goddamn best friend.

***

The problem with Lawrence High is that the majority of the student body is composed of complete jackasses.

That’s the only explanation for how someone like Cas—who is hot and sweet and intelligent and amazing and talented and able to go from shy and reserved to someone you can’t take your eyes off of on stage—is not thoroughly worshipped daily, but instead constantly tormented.

It’s not big stuff. Not getting beat up in an empty classroom, not constantly ridiculed. Stupid stuff that doesn’t get noticed by teachers.

Accidentally shoving him in the hallways, or tripping him on his way to the desk, or knocking his books down or _no-ma’am-I-do-not-know-how-this-kid’s-whole-backpack-ended-up-in-the-janitors’-closet-nor-do-I-know-how-the-poor-guy-accidentally-got-himself-locked-in, what-a-funny-accident-huh?_ And there’s the little whispers, almost too quiet to hear so you can’t even tell if you actually heard it— _Fag. Freak. Weirdo._

But it’s all in good fun, right? They’re just messing around.

That’s what they say, at least.

***

“Alright ladies and gentlemen, wannabe stars and theatre junkies, gather ‘round.”

The thickly accented voice marked the beginning of the next day’s rehearsal. Crowley was calling the beginning meeting—taking attendance, clarifying goals for today, establishing what they’ll be blocking or choreographing (none of which Crowley actually organizes, of course; he yells at assistant directors and the stage manager—also known as Dean—to “get everything together and get out of my sight.” He’s a charmer).

“I have a… rather unfortunate announcement,” Crowley started. Dean exchanged a look with Cas—this could be bad. Crowley didn’t think anything was unfortunate. Last year, the lead of Grease, Lisa, had broken her leg the day before tech week started and he barely batted an eye. “The decision making council has been meeting, talking about budget cut, yada yada yada. Long story short, the arts budget has been cut. Nothing we can do about it, but this means that unless we get enough funds from ticket sales this time around, we won’t be able to do a show next year.”

Immediately, murmuring begins, ranging from confusion to outrage. It goes on for barely forty five seconds before Crowley silences them. “Alright, well if you want your bloody show so much, consider this—don’t mess up, you _morons_!” He starts to storm off but before he does , he turns back and adds, “And I suggest you start on advertising. Dean, work on that. Charlie, continue the choreography where we left off.”

Everyone is silent for an agonizing minute before Dean whispers “ _Shit_ ,” and everyone springs into action.

This play officially _has_ to be the best _ever_.

***

The rehearsal seems agonizingly long. Instead of working on things Dean might actually have interest in, he spends the next nearly three hours on the phone with Sam, trying in vain to help him set up an account for the drama department on “that chicken thing.”

“ _What?_ ”

“You know, tweeting and crap. The thing everyone’s obsessed with.”

“ _Oh my god, Dean, Twitter—_ ”

“Yeah, that thing—”

“ _I cannot believe we’re related._ ”

It is… a very long few hours.

Nonetheless, the account is finally set up with minimum pain and it’s the end of rehearsal. Dean shuts down the school computer he’d been using, shoulders his backpack, and goes to find Cas.

Cas is with Meg, shrugging on his ever-present trench coat and zipping up his backpack. He is laughing at something Meg’s saying, and Dean tries in vain not be jealous of her.

It’s not like Cas is not allowed to have other friends—it’s just that, well, Dean would prefer if Cas’s friends were people who would not also have to kiss him all through tech week and performances. That’s not that unreasonable a request, right?

"Hey Cas," he says, approaching them as casually as he can manage. "Ready to go?"

Castiel looks up, a smile still on his face from something that Meg said that must have been _hilarious_ , Dean's sure.

It's Meg who speaks up, though. "Actually, Dean, Clarence here was gonna join me to grab some food."

"Oh," Dean says, because he will not be the jealous boyfriend in this scenario. That would require Cas being his boyfriend which, you know, is decidedly (and unfortunately) not a thing. "No worries. I'll see you tomorrow."

"You can join us, if you'd like?" Cas says, and he sounds unsure.

"Nah, it's cool. I have homework and shit, and I have to see if Ash knows how to get followers on that Twitter thing."

Cas offers up a smile at that, they bid their goodbyes, and Dean leaves.

And Dean is man enough to admit that he's a little afraid of Cas pulling away from him.

***

Cas Novak :)

(6:08 pm)

_Hello, Dean._

The vibration of his phone is what jars him from his math homework. (Whoever thought that calculus should be taught to high schoolers is a cruel sadist.)

He smiles a little to himself, because Cas is the only person Dean knows who texts with proper capitalization and punctuation all the time.

Dean’s response is careful and calculated:

Sent

(6:10 pm)

_hey_

Almost immediately, Cas responds.

Cas Novak :)

(6:11 pm)

_Would you perhaps be available and willing to help me run lines tomorrow after rehearsal?_

 

Only Cas would leave a rehearsal just to rehearse _more_.

Sent

(6:13 pm)

_of course. the diner?_

Cas Novak :)

(6:15 pm)

_That should be sufficient. You're buying >:D_

Here, Dean outright laughs. Cas's weird love of emojis rival that of a middle schooler, honestly.

Sent

(6:17 pm)

_i'll consider it_

 

He responds naturally this time, and he wonders how he could've thought his friendship was in danger. Even though Cas was way too good and perfect for Dean, he proved time and time again that he was _happy_ being Dean's friend, as foreign of an idea as Dean finds it.

They're gonna be okay, Dean's sure of it. Even if Dean is sort of slightly a lot in love with him, just having Cas in his life means more.

Dean wonders when his life became a chick flick and when he became a giant girl about emotional things. Regardless, his night seems a lot better when he's texting Cas in between math problems.

***

So things go on, as they always do, rehearsals and homework and way too little sleep and waking up and going to school and repeat.

And yeah, Cas is friends with Meg but Dean doesn’t feel like it’s such a bad thing (except for occasionally when Meg leans in too close to him or touches him in any way, shape or form and—)

And things are good. And Dean calculates how far away tech week is because that’s when stage kisses become _real_ kisses to make sure the mics don’t interfere and how Cas’s first kiss is gonna be forced and awkward and repeated until it _looks right_.

But Dean tries not to think about that aspect of the future. For now, they’re finally starting to stage scenes, having made a lot of progress on choreography, which meant Dean would get to do _actual_ stage managing duties instead of just loitering in the back like a movie extra out of his element.

Dean isn’t one to rant and rave about his passions—music, movies, cars maybe, but not his _real_ passions—but he loves working behind the scenes. Organizing things, making sure everything runs smoothly so that people can go through the show without ever stopping to wonder what goes on backstage, just enjoying the show. There’s beauty in it, in the thankless anonymity of working magic backstage, as cheesy as Dean is to feel that way.

He’s also put in charge of hanging flyers and posters absolutely fucking everywhere, ten times more than usual because they need as much publicity as possible. Luckily, he hands off his Twitter and social media duties to a merciful Charlie, who is assistant director and helps with choreography. Within an hour of handing over the reins, the Twitter gets a good 100 followers.

So he’s happy to slip into his role; less so to have to watch Cas-AKA-Link deliver flirtatious lines to Meg-AKA-Amber and Donna Hanscum, the girl playing Tracy who is equal parts annoying and adorable in all her quirkiness.

But Dean knows he can’t win them all, and the fact that nearly every day Cas and he are going to the diner, and they’re texting just like normal if not a little more are definitely wins in his book.

***

Dean and Cas’s main group of friends consist of one hundred percent theater geeks, and they're all freaking awesome.

Jo, of course, does costuming, and Dean does set design and stage management. Garth does set design as well as being prop master, and Ash works tech. Charlie does most of the choreography, even though she's technically assistant director.

Gabriel, of course, is your stereotypically obnoxious theatre kid. He sings in the middle of class, he's flamboyant and loud in everything he does, and he's playing Edna Turnblad. He sort of drifts between this group and the jock-types, since his brothers Michael and Luke are the school's star athletes—and the school douchebags, along with Raphael and Zach. Because unfortunately, we live in a world where physical abilities make you superior to others.

Dean's eating a relatively disgusting school cheeseburger the Friday before tech when Gabriel appears, looking grim. That alone is worrying, because the guy is always annoyingly cheery.

"What's up with you?" Dean asks.

Gabriel thrusts a crumpled piece of paper out, dropping it in the middle of the lunch table. Charlie and Ash are in the middle of an intense discussion about some computer program that Dean's never heard of, Cas is still at the back of the enormous lunch line, and Garth is reading some book with a puppy on the cover and looking like he's about to cry—so Dean grabs the paper and holds it in between he and Jo for them both to see.

It's a flyer for winter homecoming. Dean's never been into that kind of thing—he has little to no school spirit, he doesn't care about football, and he doesn't like dressing up or dancing—but he understands what Gabriel is pissed about when his eyes look down past the clip art football and sees the date.

“What the _fuck_?”

Jo reacts first, speaking just a little louder than she should be when she’s cursing in school. But then, Dean has to agree with her assessment. Her exclamation prompts the others at the table to look up in alarm.

“They can’t do this! It was scheduled for the week before!” Then, repeats, “What the _fuck?_ ”

“What is it?” Garth is the one who asks, tucking a bookmark into his book.

“They rescheduled winter homecoming for opening night.”

“Wait, what?” That’s Charlie.

“Should’ve seen that one coming,” says Ash. “Those football idiots have been out to get us since freshman year.”

This is the point at which Castiel appears, blissfully oblivious to everything and setting down a Styrofoam tray as he slides into the seat next to Dean. “Hello,” he says, wordlessly sliding over his slice of pie, which usually makes Dean sigh dreamily and fall a little bit more for the guy—

But no, even pie cannot help this situation.

Cas glances around the table, sensing the tension and blinking owlishly. “What’s going on?”

Jo shoves the paper away from her and stands up, storming off.

Dean turns to him. “Winter homecoming’s the same night as opening night.”

“Are you serious?” Cas’s eyes harden, which is not good at all because Cas is something else altogether when he’s angry.

Nodding grimly, Castiel stares at the flyer with narrowed eyes like, if he stared at it long enough, his eyes would burn holes in the paper and it wouldn’t be true anymore.

Finally, he says, “Fuck that,” and Dean almost gasps just because Cas rarely—if ever—curses. “Our show is going to be awesome, the best yet, and those assholes aren’t going to ruin that for us.” His eyes were burning with determination (and damn, if that wasn’t a little bit hot).

Dean smiles to himself, because that’s more like Cas. Fiercely loyal to anything and anyone he loves, determined to do what’s right. Dean starts in on his second slice of pie, slightly calmed. Cas is right, of course. The theatre department is awesome with the little budget they have, and they know it. Even if opening night fails—which it won’t—the rest of the performances will be good enough. They’ll _have_ to be good enough.

So Dean is feeling pretty good, until the bell signals the end of their lunch period. Charlie and Ash head off to their web design class and Garth has long since disappeared to do _whatever_ it is that Garth does during the last ten minutes or so of lunch. Cas stands up and starts walking toward the garbage side by side with Dean—saying something about bees’ reproduction habits almost _passionately_ and how it _clearly_ relates to their situation with the jocks—and right into Raphael the douchebag jock, who very inconspicuously dumps chocolate milk all over Cas.

“My bad,” he says with a little twist of a smile and Dean very nearly punches him in the face, only stopped by Castiel putting a milk covered hand in front of him.

He stares Raphael down, and it’s honestly fucking terrifying to the point where Dean has no idea how these people can continuously mess with Cas without getting scared off. Raphael doesn’t pause though, just continues on his way, where Zach pats him on the back with a laugh and Luke looks at Cas like he’s a goddamned meal.

They they’re gone and Cas sort of, well, crumbles, his face growing somber and his eyes falling downcast.

“Hey, come on Cas, don’t let those assholes get to you,” Dean says, trying to be comforting somehow.

Castiel nods stiffly. “I don’t understand why they harbor such dislike toward me.”

Dean huffs out a little laugh at his phrasing and then feels guilty. “Let’s get you to the bathroom.”

Castiel shrugs off his coat once they enter the bathroom, setting it on top of a garbage can.

“You clean up, I have extra clothes in my locker,” Dean says, shoving a mountainous pile of paper towels at Cas and exiting.

He rarely uses his locker—not enough time during classes, really—but ever since the incident which he is not allowed to _ever_ speak about when Cas had spilled a chemical on him during a chemistry lab, he’s started keeping at least one extra change of clothes in there. He’s back to the bathroom shortly, finding himself face to face with a shirtless Castiel using paper towels to remove any sticky chocolate residue from his chest and torso area.

“Uh,” Dean says, announcing his presence. Something about Cas makes talking simultaneously painless and impossible.

Cas looks up and smiles, one of his little ones that pull up at the corners of his mouth, looking bashful about his semi-clothed state yet grateful as he accepts the clothes. He pulls on the t-shirt (an old AC/DC one that was ripped a little at the hem) and, thank God, retreats to a stall to change into Dean’s ripped jeans.

The bell for the next class has long since rang and Dean could not care less.

“You okay?” Dean asks once Cas emerges. Dean’s clothes are just a little bit too big for Cas, but he thinks it looks good—really good. Like the dude’s relaxing a little bit, instead of those freshly ironed freaking slacks he wears regularly.

Cas nods. “‘M fine.”

Cas is looking down, and he didn’t perfectly enunciate every word he said which is honestly worrying, so Dean steps forward and puts a hand on his shoulder—kinda closer to the part where shoulder and neck meet, which makes it almost too intimate—and looks at Cas until his stupidly blue eyes finally look up at his.

He doesn’t even say anything, just looks into Cas’s eyes and it should probably really be awkward but it just… isn’t? And Cas’s eyes soften like he gets the message Dean is trying to send (fuck, Dean doesn’t even know what message he’s trying to send) until Dean notices a dot of chocolate milk on his cheek and he laughs a little.

“You still have a little—” he says, and stops trying to explain his actions to Cas or himself and he swipes his thumb over the droplet and Cas is _really_ really close to him. Close enough that, if he wanted, he could lean in that tiny little bit and just _do it_.

Cas watches him carefully and his cheeks are starting to warm, which Dean can tell because his hand is _still on Cas’s cheek_.

“Dean,” Cas says, like a whisper but not quite, “I—”

But Dean doesn’t get to find out what came next because the door to the bathroom swings open and a freshman kid enters just as Cas jumps away from Dean like he’s been burned.

Dean shoves his hands in his pocket and looks everywhere but at Cas and he can tell Cas is doing the same.

He almost kissed Cas. Cas, who is his best friend and deserves a thousand times better than Dean and that freshman is _pissing in the background_.

Finally, finally the freshman leaves and Dean clears his throat. Cas still won’t look at him.

“What do you say we cut out of next class? We already missed a lot of this period.”

Cas looks up and looks kinda shaky. “Ah, um, I have a paper due. Next class. Yes, I have to, I should, I need to go to that. I’ll see later. _You_ , I’ll see _you_ later—is what I mean. Yeah.”

And he grabs his milk covered clothes and all but runs from the bathroom, leaving Dean to feel like he majorly fucked up.

***

Dean isn’t sure if he’s relieved or disappointed when Cas acts like nothing happened once they see each other again for play practice. He just says his normal “Hello Dean,” before sitting down next to him.

But then, nothing _did_ happen. Nothing was _going_ to happen, Dean’s sure of it.

“What’s got your panties in a bunch, Winchester?” asks Jo as she gracelessly plops herself onto the chair next to him, waiting for Crowley to arrive and dictate the day’s plans. Dean checks to see that Cas is still up refilling his water bottle.

Dean glances at her before looking down. “All the stuff with the play I guess,” Dean says, not really a lie, “Speaking of, where’d you disappear to after lunch today?”

“I went to talk to Principal Metatron and asked if they could even do this, and he said they could and it was approved, and I may have threatened him a little bit—”

“Joanna Beth—”

“But don’t change the subject. What’s really wrong?”

Dean looks up, away from Jo, just in time to see Cas crossing the room to sit with Meg.

So much for acting like nothing happened.

“Ah,” Jo says, like she understands in all her sagely wisdom. “Trouble in paradise?”

“There’s no paradise!” Dean squawks. (But he will deny vehemently that he did in fact _squawk_.)

“Not with that attitude. But you know what I mean.”

“Nothing’s wrong. ‘S just,” he adds, mumbling as he scratches the back of his neck, “Cas’s been kinda ignoring me lately.”

“And?”

“‘And,’ what?”

“Dude, that’s not enough to upset you. You know you’re his best friend.”

Jo says it so easily, like it’s obvious, and Dean knows it _should_ be, but he doesn’t know why things between him and Cas have been so hard lately. He’d thought he’d been at least _sort of_ discreet about his more-than-crush, so why was Cas—

“Oh my god, you’re shitting me, how do you _not_ know that?”

“I think I almost kissed him in the bathroom today,” Dean blurts out, just because he knows Jo won’t let it go no matter what.

“ _What?!_ ” Jo hisses.

But the term ‘saved by the bell’ seems to apply here in some abstract way, because Crowley finally deems that the students are worth his esteemed presence and strides to the front of the room to begin the meeting.

So he’s happy to avoid eye contact with Jo as she tries to mouth at him _This is not over_ as she slinks back to do her costuming things, and happy to do his own job without having to explain everything.

***

It was second grade and their class was doing a play of the old folktale “Stone Soup: when Dean first _really_ met Cas, as in, outside of the teacher led, group-circle, _hi my name is Dean my favorite color is blue and when I grow up I’m going to be Batman_.

Dean was the designated director, which meant he got to pass out the scripts to all the seven-year-olds and yell at them when someone wasn’t paying attention and wouldn’t read their lines.

Dean thought it was the coolest thing in the world _ever_.

That is, until Castiel—playing the traveler who comes into town and tricks everyone into giving him food—read his first line.

After their first “rehearsal” (they all just sat in a circle and stumbled through their lines), Dean’s little legs brought him over to Castiel.

“You’re a really good reader-er,” Dean said, his hands fiddling with the staple in the corner of the script he was holding.

Castiel looked around with wide eyes like he wasn’t sure Dean was talking to him, and when he did he looked down, cheeks—still pudgy with remaining baby fat—a little pink.

“Thank you,” he said, “you’re a good director.”

“Thanks Cas-teal—Cast—Cas,” Dean twisted his mouth in frustration. “Can I call you Cas?”

Castiel’s—Cas’s—eyes lit up. “I would enjoy that.”

And, well, the rest is history.

***

The rehearsal is uneventful until the very end, when Jo pulls him aside and says,

“I’m not gonna demand details, because honestly I do not need to know everything about your love life. But I am going to ask an explanation later. For now though, get your head out of your ass and try an _actual conversation_ maybe, dumbass.”

“Jo—”

“I know, chick flick moments aren’t your thing, but so help me if you don’t stop radiating man pain and sexual tension—or romantic tension, or whatever the fuck it is with you guys—I _will_ kill you.” She studies Dean as if she’s trying to determine whether the message got through him before she sighs and repeats, “Talk. To. Him.” Then she hugs him quick but tight and walks away before he can understand what actually just happened.

He walks up to Castiel a few moments later, more carefully and quietly than he normally would. “Hey Cas,” he says softly. And surprise, he’s talking to Meg as he shoves jazz shoes in his backpack, who is literally twirling her hair but looks up with barely an annoyed raise of her eyebrow at Dean’s approach.

“Dean,” Cas greets, standing up and putting on his backpack before noticing their close proximity and looking away. “I, um, perhaps a ‘rain check’ on running lines. I am quite tired,” he says, but Dean knows it’s just an excuse because Cas _sucks_ at lying as a general rule.

Oddly enough, Meg lets out an exasperated sigh at that. Dean almost misses Cas looking back at her before hesitantly saying. “But you could come over, perhaps?” He glances back and forth between Dean and the floor, which is weird considering Cas’s normally really intense gaze. “Just to, you know, hang out and interact.” Meg looks strangely appeased, and Dean is equal parts relieved, suspicious, and concerned.

“Yeah, sounds good, Cas,” Dean says, studying Cas carefully.

Cas looks relieved as well and he smiles softly in that way that he does—the way that Dean doesn’t dare imagine is a smile only for him—and says, “Good. Cool. I shall speak to you later, Meg.”

Meg nods her goodbye while Dean tries to figure out what he’s supposed to say to Cas.

_Talk to him_ , Jo says. Dean couldn’t possibly know where to start. _“Hey, Cas, I’ve been in love with you probably forever, so if you want to make out or cuddle or whatever it is you’re into that would be cool, or, you know, whatever_. _”_

But Cas takes that off his mind for a while, talking about how Donna-AKA-Tracy can’t get the steps right in “You Can’t Stop the Beat”. Dean offers that, on the bright side, their Twitter page is pretty successful, at least according to Ash and Charlie’s standards, since Dean has no idea what’s considered good or not. Cas laughs at Dean’s lack of technological knowledge until Dean says, “Fuck you, I can take apart and put an engine back together blindfolded,” and Castiel gets quiet fast because he thought his car was ruined forever when he got a flat tire. It’s normal, all the way in the car to Cas’s house and past the empty rooms—not uncommon, unfortunately, with his older sister Anna away for college and his mom long gone and his Dad on business trips more often than not—until they settle down on the edge of Cas’s bed. They’re just calming down from laughter at something Cas had said when they get quiet and Cas speaks up, softly.

“Dean, when was your first kiss?”

Dean is surprised by the question, but he gives a small half smile at the memory. “Seventh grade, last day of school, when we went to that park. Bela Talbot pulled me under a tree and, you know.” Except, that isn’t all. Cas had disappeared to who knows where and had been more or less ignoring Dean all day, knowingly or not, and Dean was upset about it. About three days after that day, Dean had realized that he was in love with Cas, had been probably since they were in elementary school. He freaked out _thoroughly_ , before telling Bela he liked someone else. She just smiled and said, “I could have told you that, Winchester,” before patting his head patronizingly.

“I see,” Castiel says.

“Are you—” Dean sighs, thinks _fuck it_ , “Are you nervous? For tech?”

There’s a long pause—a pause in which Castiel sighs just as Dean notices that there’s not a lot of space between them on the edge of the bed, notices the way Cas’s lips part on the exhale and the way his hair is sticking up in various places and how his features curl into a thoughtful look—before he answers. “Slightly, yes.”

_Fuck it_ seems to be Dean’s philosophy for the night, because Castiel _looks_ nervous, and it’s not fair that he’s so okay with his first kiss being like _that_.

“Listen, Cas,” Dean says, shifting to face Castiel more, and his goddamn eyelashes are casting shadows against his cheek and he looks near angelic in the warm light of the bedroom. “You’re awesome. You know that.”

Castiel tilts his head, unsure of where Dean is going. Hell, Dean isn’t sure either.

“You deserve a hell of a lot more than a kiss on stage with Meg, rehearsed and forced and shit and—your first kiss should be someone who actually _cares_ about you and—” Castiel’s eyes are wide and searching and Dean can’t take it because if he’s going for it, then he is _going for it_ and he leans in and then, and then—

Their lips don’t crush together. They barely brush, soft and light and not even a kiss and then Cas exhales against Dean’s lips and it’s like a cue in a script, the words “they kiss” in goddamned Courier New size twelve, enclosed in parentheses and italicized and center aligned as they both push just slightly closer as Dean lifts his hand to cup Cas’s cheek. Dean doesn’t know if it’s possible to pour everything he’s felt since they were freaking kids into the kiss but he tries, and their mouths are only just starting to really move against each other, a smooth slide, before Dean feels arms pushing him away.

Dean pulls away and he fucked up, Jo must have been wrong when she said Cas obviously felt the same way, because Cas won’t look at him. Dean can’t even bring himself to speak and mess things up even more and oh _god_ , there’s a sinking in his stomach like he’s never felt before.

When Cas finally looks up, it’s worse than he imagined. It’s not the smiling face of someone about to laugh at him, it’s not pitying and apologetic—it’s fucking _pissed_ , and that angel thing is looking a lot less _serene and beautiful_ and a lot more _avenging warrior_. His cheeks are flushed, his lips are wet and red, his hair messed up on the side where Dean’s hand was just beginning to run through it.

“I don’t want your _sympathy_ , Dean,” Castiel hisses, practically spits out his name like it tastes bad or maybe like it’s a knife and Dean’s a captive target. “That is the last thing I want from you.”

“Cas, I’m sorry—” Dean starts, but he isn’t quite sure what Cas is saying.

Cas cuts him off by standing abruptly, turning away from Dean. He’s shaking and Dean wants to go to him, but instead he stays sitting on the bed until Cas says, “You should go.”

“Cas—”

“ _Please_.” His voice cracks and Dean can’t even fathom how he fucked up this much because as he’s scrambling to get up, Cas spares him one look that looks honest-to-god heartbroken.

The time it takes for Dean to get downstairs and out the front door from Cas’s room is a blur that Dean misses completely. When he closes the door behind him, he whispers “I’m sorry” into the cold.

It’s started to snow, he realizes, while they were inside. It’s falling in flurries and sticking to the ground. First real snow of the season. Cas has always loved snow. Normally Dean would be calling Cas just to hear his over-excited voice, the one normally reserved for topics like theatre and bumblebees and overly expensive loose leaf tea, making plans for sledding or snowball fights even if they only get half an inch of snow.

Instead, Dean gets in the Impala and drives away. He doesn’t see Cas watching him leave from his bedroom window.

***

Dean picks Sam up on his way home, since he was doing homework with his friend Jessica.

But he, you know, _really doesn’t want to talk about it_. He just wants to quietly stew in his sadness and frustration because _how did he mess up that badly_ and _how can he even fix this_ —for as long as he can before he has to go to school tomorrow and deal with stuff.

So he does what he usually does, which is smiling and saying, “How was the ‘studying,’ Sam?” and nudging Sam with his elbow.

Even messing with Sam isn’t fun.

“Please, if I wanted to date Jess I’d use a better excuse, like that we’re going to the diner to _run lines_ ,” Sam says, laughs at his own joke, wiggles his eyebrows, and Dean can’t even muster a fake smile.

Sam must notice, because he stops laughing and his smile fades and the last thing Dean wants is to ruin _another_ person’s day. “What happened?”

Dean pauses.

“I fucked up, Sam.” His lips tighten into a line because there is no way that his voice is shaking.

Sam’s got his serious puppy dog face on, the one that’s all concern and wide eyes. “What happened?”

Dean starts the car and thanks anyone that’s listening that Sam is quiet for the rest of the ride home.

***

Three new messages:

Jo Harvelle

(5:43 pm)

_im serious tho, you need to talk to him_

Jo Harvelle

(5:59 pm)

_are you guys talking? you better be confessing your big gay love to him right this second or so help me_

Jo Harvelle

(6:18 pm)

_i’ll take the silence to mean you guys are making out or something. which I do not want to think about but. congrats?_

***

“You have reached the voicemail of— _I don’t understand, why do you want me to say my name?_ To leave a message, press one, or wait for the tone.”

Call ended.

***

He gets a whole weekend of moping and ignoring Jo’s constant texts and phone calls before he has to face school—and with school, tech week.

Cas is at school Monday, of course, because even whatever the fuck happened with them Friday could not possibly motivate Cas to miss both school _and_ rehearsal.

But this is worse, infinitely worse than Cas not being there at all. He doesn’t glare or look like a kicked puppy. He just ignores Dean, like he doesn’t exist. The only class they have together is chemistry, and that’s not until the end of the day.

They pass in the hallway twice, both times where Dean tries to get his attention, just to ask if they can talk even if Cas just yells at him until he understands what he got so upset over. Cas just ducks his head and keeps moving.

He doesn’t know what he does for lunch, because Dean skips lunch to hide out in the library to click around on an old Windows computer and make himself look like he’s working so he doesn’t get kicked out. In doing so, he also avoids Jo’s questioning.

In chemistry, Cas says he doesn’t have his goggles, loses points, and has to do an alternate assignment to make up for it. Cas just looks relieved, and Dean ends up working with Becky Rosen, who rattles on about some sci-fi TV show, oblivious to the fact that Dean’s not completely there.

At rehearsal, Cas sits by Donna and runs lines with her. Dean’s waiting for Jo to corner him when Meg beats him to it.

She doesn’t look sympathetic or mad, just _amused_. “I’m not gonna tell you that you guys belong together and that you fucked up or that he’s crazy in love with you.”

Dean just looks at her like she’s crazy.

“I’m not gonna tell you how to fix it, either. And you’re not gonna have some life changing epiphany about every mistake you’ve made.”

She’s got that ever present smirk on her face and Crowley practically insisted she bleach her hair blonde for her role, so her normally dark hair is unnaturally light. A clothes hanger with her ‘60s costume is hanging off of one hand and she looks like she really could not be bothered with this conversation but, alas, she’s having it anyway.

“All I’m saying is—” she leans in slightly, and finally something flickers over her features besides vague amusement—anger, “Fucking _fix it_.”

Then she saunters—because that’s the only way to describe it—toward the girls’ dressing room.

She’s right about a couple of things, of course. There’s no epiphany.

And, well, he does need to fucking fix it.

 

***

 

Dean’s role as stage manager is on overdrive once tech week starts. Stricter attendance, yelling at the fuckers who say “Macbeth” just to annoy the more traditional cast members, and making sure everyone is where they’re supposed to be is difficult enough with a cast of idiot high schoolers. He doesn’t have one of those cool headsets like you see on TV, but he does have a clipboard, and he does get to call “Places, everyone!” which cheers him up a small amount, despite Cas still refusing to talk or listen to him when he’s not telling him that he’s on in five.

He’s busy enough that Jo can’t pull him aside and make him talk, and he’s busy enough to mostly not notice that Cas seems fine without talking to Dean at all—and to not notice that Cas looks _really_ good in his costume.

He does, unfortunately, notice that Cas hasn’t made eye contact with him once since they kissed, and he notices Cas-AKA-Link kissing Meg-AKA-Amber and Donna-AKA-Tracy. It’s awkward and rehearsed just like Dean knew it would be.

But hey, Cas doesn’t push any of them away. They’re already better off than Dean—especially when Meg gives Cas a ride home.

 

***

 

On Tuesday, Dean approaches him before classes start. Cas looks like he punched him in the gut and just says, “No, Dean,” and goes to class.

 

***

 

On Wednesday, Dean barely sets his lunch tray down next to Cas before he stands up abruptly, stiffly, and practically flees the cafeteria. He looks down to avoid any concerned or pitying glances from his friends—because he’s still somehow managed to avoid talking with Jo—and misses Zach and Raphael following barely a moment later.

Cas comes to tech that day with a black eye. Dean’s the first to notice and he bolts forward to him.

“Shit, Cas, what happened? Are you okay?” Before he even thinks, his hand is on Cas’s cheek to tilt his head into the light so he can see the bruise better.

Cas flinches and pulls away, just as what seems like absolutely every fucking other person notices and runs over to question.

Goddamn theatre kids with their theatre-y voices all concerned for the person they’ve never talked to when they’re not in character. (Friends excluded.)

The group surrounding Cas only disperses when Crowley appears. As if he’s not enough of an asshole with the stress of tech week, he’s absolutely livid when he sees his _star_ with a black eye. It takes a dozen reassurances from literally _every girl in the cast_ that a little concealer would fix it up easily before he stops _yelling at Cas_ for “getting himself beat up.” Worse, Castiel just nods and says it won’t happen again.

That night’s run-through is the worst yet. No one changes costumes fast enough, everyone stumbles over lines they’d had memorized just yesterday, the lighting is all over the place, there’s so much feedback from the microphones that they have to stop so frequently that they barely finish running the first act before Crowley calls it a night.

As soon as he calls it, Jo just about attacks Dean.

“You’re gonna talk to me,” Jo says.

Dean just looks at her, somewhere between annoyance and resignation. “Jo,” he says warningly, running a hand over his face.

“Yeah, we all had a shitty day today. Tell me what happened. Not because I’m curious, although I am, but because you’re too emotionally constipated to admit that _maybe_ you need to talk to somebody about all your shit with Cas. I know that you know that you need to fix things but first you need to freaking _talk to me_. Can you do that, asshole?” Jo suddenly looks embarrassed through her determination. “Okay, that was my monologue for the day, now it’s your turn.”

Dean sighs. “I will. Just… What happened to Cas?”

“The black eye?”

“Yeah.”

“Zach and Raphael. Talking shit about guys in theatre, and Cas responded, you know how he is, sounding like something straight out of a textbook. My guess is they didn’t know what he was saying because they have the vocab range of an eight year old, assumed it was an insult, and punched him.”

“Is he okay?”

“Yes, Dean,” Jo says, seeming almost annoyed at his concern. “But you’re not. Start talking.”

So Dean talks. It doesn’t help that much, but maybe it does just a little.

 

***

 

On Thursday, it’s a quarter past nine and Dean’s barely pulling the Impala out of the school parking lot when he sees a lone, trench coat-wearing figure carrying a mountain of a backpack just up the road.

“Shit,” Dean says eloquently, because there’s no way he’s letting Cas walk all the way home from school alone, but it’s also more than a distinct possibility that Cas won’t let him give him a ride.

Still, he pulls over next to him.

“Cas,” he says, and doesn’t realize that it comes out broken until it has. Then again, if he didn’t sound so freaking pitiful then maybe Cas wouldn’t have looked up.

Still, he doesn’t say anything.

“Cas, get in the car.”

Castiel starts walking again.

“It’s fucking nine at night, just let me give you a ride home. _Please_.”

Castiel stops, gives Dean and the Impala a long look, and finally, thank God, gets in the car, sliding silently into the passenger seat.

Cas stares pointedly out of the window through the entire ride. Dean turns the radio up to fill the silence, but nothing _good_ is on and everything’s playing ads and he eventually just shuts it off.

It’s not until Dean pulls into Cas’s driveway that he says, “Where’s Meg anyway? Hasn’t she been giving you rides?”

In response, Cas just grabs his backpack and gets out of the car, not sparing Dean a glance before he slams the door. Dean sighs and looks down, gathering his courage before following Cas out.

Cas is halfway to his front door, one-shouldering his backpack. Dean walks around the car to get closer to him before shaking his head.

“Look, I know you’re mad at me for kissing you, but—”

“You think I’m mad that you _kissed_ me?” Cas says, and it’s the first freaking time he’s looked at him all night and he just looks so _exhausted_.

“Cas—”

“I’m not _mad_ that you _kissed_ me, Dean, I’m mad about _why_ you kissed me.”

“What the hell does that _mean_?”

“You think I want _pity_?” Cas says, dropping his backpack and stepping forward. Dean never sees Cas mad but when he is he’s _fierce_. “I would’ve rather my first kiss be on stage than because my best _fucking_ friend feels _bad_ for me!”

“You think _that’s_ what it was?”

“I don’t want you to kiss me for the sake of making my first _mean_ something—because society’s expectations and views on those types of things are flawed anyway—I want you to _want_ to kiss me!”

They both freeze for a second, as Cas realizes he’d been yelling in the middle of his driveway at night, and they both realize what he’s just said.

Cas’s face is barely inches away from Dean’s from where he’d been yelling and Dean watches as Cas’s eyes flicker from anger to fear to worry to regret to _desperation_ to heartbreak to acceptance as he bites his own cheek to stop from saying anything else.

“What?” Dean chokes out. Castiel watches him carefully.

“I want you to want to kiss me,” Cas repeats. “God knows why, you _incorrigible_ asshole, but I do.”

Dean’s eyes flick down to Cas’s lips. “I didn’t kiss you out of pity.”

Castiel gives him a look colder than ice. “Don’t you dare say something and give me hope, Dean. Don’t you dare lie to me.”

“I may be an ‘incorrigible asshole’, Cas, but I’m not a liar,” Dean says, and steels himself. “I _wanted_ to kiss you. I’ve wanted to kiss you since we were in middle school. I’m so fucking gone on you I don’t know how I lasted this long, Jesus, I just couldn’t think of other people getting to kiss you, even though I’m worthless and not gonna go anywhere with my life and you deserve a thousand times better. I still don’t even know if you like people like that but I’m so stupidly in love with you—”

He doesn’t even realize Cas’s lips are on his until he finishes his sentence, that’s how caught up he is, until he shuts up and starts kissing back. _Cas_ , this is _Cas_ , he finds himself thinking for some reason as Cas’s mouth, soft and a little wet and perfect moves against Dean’s. There’s nothing skillful about it but it’s perfect because it’s _Cas_.

Cas pulls his lips away, just centimeters so he can look at Dean with their foreheads touching, and Dean’s arm snakes around his waist to make sure he doesn’t move too far. “I don’t like people like that. I like _you_ ,” Cas says.

Dean can’t resist pressing in for another kiss before he laughs.“Thank you for shutting me up, I was spewing a goddamn monologue.”

“It’s my pleasure, Dean.”

Dean kisses Cas again, because apparently that’s a _thing he can do now_ before huffing another laugh against his lips. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Cas looks at him like he’s crazy. “Same reason you didn’t tell me, I suppose. I didn’t want to negatively impact our friendship, and I thought it would be selfish to ask you to be with me when I don’t… want a lot of things that you want.”

“Hey, no, we’ll figure that shit out later—”

“Dean, I’m broken. I—” he pulls back more so he can avoid Dean’s gaze. “I understand if you don’t want me. You can change your mind, I—”

Dean pulls Cas back to him, damn near appalled. “God, Cas, you aren’t broken. I don’t care if you don’t want to do anything more than kiss. I don’t care. I just want you, that’s all I want. You’re _perfect_.” Dean pauses. “Shit, wait, is the kissing okay? Is that something you’re okay with?”

Cas looks up at him like he’s the brightest star in the sky, like he’s something that matters, almost _teary_ laughter spilling out. “I love you. I’ve loved you for so long, Dean Winchester.”

Dean swallows hard at how immense that sounds but doesn’t say anything, instead smiles teasingly. “So is the kissing good? ‘Cause I don’t wanna do anything you don’t want to.”

“Yes, Dean, the kissing is good.”

“So I should do that again?” Dean offers with a growing smirk.

“Yes.”

“Right now?”

“You’d better.”

 

***

 

Even though Dean could have stayed with Cas for hours, it’s late and they both have to get to sleep for the big day tomorrow. He still has so much he feels like he needs to say to Cas, and he still has to ask about the black eye and, in response, offer to freaking _destroy_ whomever did it.

But soon enough they’re reluctantly parting ways with goodbye kisses (and Dean can _really_ get used to that) and Dean gets home with a smile stretched across his face.

 

***

 

The next day is such a flurry of nerves about opening night that their friends at lunch almost don’t notice that they walk up together holding hands. Ash and Charlie have laptops in place of food and have about a thousand tabs open of what appears to be different social media websites. Gabriel is running lines none too quietly with an overly enthusiastic Garth, and Jo—

“About time you got your head out of your ass, Winchester,” she says, but her grin is more congratulatory than snarky. Dean smiles back before looking over at Cas only to see that Cas is smiling softly at him.

“Shut up, Harvelle,” Dean throws back half-heartedly, and that’s when the whole table looks up and sees and they all start gasping and offering congratulations. “Yeah, yeah, get back to running lines, nerds.” Then again, the attention is making Cas blush which Dean thinks is _really_ adorable, so maybe he shouldn’t be complaining.

“How’s the advertising and social media stuff coming?” Cas asks, sliding Dean his cafeteria-quality apple pie with his free hand, his other still locked with Dean under the table.

Charlie beams. “We have a pretty great following, and a bunch of people are saying they’re coming to opening night.”

“Take that, Winter Homecoming,” Jo shouts just a little too loudly, pumping her fist in the air.

***

 

After school, Dean and Cas walk to the auditorium to prepare for the first performance last night, Cas muttering random lines under his breath while Dean held his hand silently, trying to will him to _chill the fuck out_.

“Dude, Cas, chill,” Dean says, squeezing his hand and stopping their motion right as they’re about to go in. “You’re going to be amazing.”

Cas turns to face him so he can properly eye him skeptically.

“I’m serious!” Dean says, because Cas is already an amazing person and an amazing actor. “No one’s gonna know what hit ‘em.”

Cas smiled, not the little soft one but a full grin and Dean couldn’t help but return it as they entered the theater. The first person they saw was Meg, who saw their joined hands and smirked like a silent _I told you so_ , which reminded Dean—

“I thought you liked Meg.”

Cas looks up, surprised at the suddenness of the admission, and laughs a little. “Not at all. Well, perhaps she liked _me_ at first, but she quickly reduced her flirtations once she realized the, ah, crush I was ‘clearly’ harboring for you.”

“Really?” Dean asks.

“She’s been giving me advice on how to initiate a potential relationship with you.” He paused, frowning at his own words. “Flirting, I mean.”

“Really?” Dean repeats. “Huh. Maybe we owe her a thank you.”

Soon enough they both go their separate ways, Cas going to run lines with Donna before he has to get into costume. Garth appears to be stuck in the [giant hairspray bottle](http://mtwrentals.org/wp-content/uploads/2010/05/hairspray_231.jpg) they made for the final number while some others from the set design crew pry at the edges, apparently having been checking to make sure that Gabriel would be able to open it from the inside. Dean sighs and gets to work on that until it’s time to fulfill his duties as stage manager.

The energy buzzing through the theater is electric as everyone gets ready. There’s no last dress rehearsal, since it’s bad luck to rehearse too much the day of. Soon enough people start arriving and the cast and crew is all huddled backstage. Dean (who’d managed to free Garth and explain to Gabriel _in detail_ that he has to turn the knob _and then_ push to get out and still had time to make sure everyone was present and ready) checks with Charlie, working as an usher for the night, ripping tickets and handing out programs, who beams when she sees him.

“This is the most people we’ve had for an opening night, maybe ever!”

Dean grins. “How is that even possible?”

“People are leaving the game early and skipping the dance. Makes sense, I guess, freshmen are the only ones who care about school dances that aren’t prom.” She hands a program off and Dean returns backstage. A few more rounds through the backstage area and it’s just about time to start.

Crowley is in a rare good mood—if you can call it that, since he always seems like an asshole.

“Dean, what’s the time?”

“Five after,” Dean supplied. Showtime.

Crowley took a deep breath before shouting, “Alright, morons!” Dean wouldn’t be surprised if some people in the audience heard it.

The cast and crew all gather around, antsy and nervous to get started. He’s pretty sure he saw Gabriel chugging a Red Bull earlier and he looks like he’s vibrating. Jo looks like she’s sewing up a rip on Meg’s dress while she’s wearing it. Garth is attacking a can of “Ultra Clutch Hairspray” with a hot glue gun. An assortment of girls stop trilling through vocal warm-ups to pay attention to Crowley. Cas seems to materialize next to him, sliding a hand into Dean’s. Dean squeezes gently and turns to give him a reassuring smile. His hair is slicked back and he’s got blush and eyeliner on which is strangely endearing.

“If the numbers Charlie gave me are correct, it appears I’ll be stuck managing the mainstage musical for at least another year.” Dean grins while the rest of the students whoop triumphantly. Dean reminds himself to profusely thank Ash and Charlie for that. “You guys know what to do.”

As far as Crowley goes, that’s damn near a tear-jerking, emotional and inspirational speech.

“Places for the opening number, everyone!” Dean calls, hastily turning toward Cas. Then quieter, “Are you wearing lipstick or anything?”

“No?” he asked, head tilting.

“Good,” Dean says and kisses him, long and deep before pulling back to look into slightly dazed eyes. “Break a leg.”

Cas smiles, eyes crinkling, and it’s dazzling, awe-inspiring, _amazing_ , before heading to the wings so he can make his entrance once Donna starts “Good Morning Baltimore.”

The orchestra (a group of students only involved because the orchestra and band teachers had offered extra credit) begins to play, onstage Donna begins to sing, and the show begins.

And Dean’s sure that everything is going to be great. Because in maybe two and a half hours, he and Cas will share congratulations with their friends on a job well done before they disappear to the diner, their diner, and there will be pie and burgers, and Dean will be thinking about Cas and kissing for a whole different reason than that first time. Cas will be loose and happy from the success of opening night, Dean relieved that everyone was on stage when they were supposed to be and that no one got stuck in a giant can of hairspray, and they’ll be holding hands, and they won’t have a care in the world.

 

THE END

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you thank you to my betas [Jordyn](http://samwsson.tumblr.com) (writing buddy extraordinaire) and [Stephanie](http://queerflux.co.vu) (real life bestie), and to the people who organized this challenge. Seriously, it’s very rad of you guys.  
> And thank you to [Gretchen](http://sweetnessnarose.tumblr.com), the fabulous and chill as heck artist who claimed my story and put up with me writing it ridiculously slowly. She gave me plot ideas when I had no idea what I was doing, and is generally a really cool person and talented artist. The art she made for this fic is so lovely!  
> Kudos and especially comments make me very happy, if you’re about that life. Thank you for reading!


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